


splinters of my soul cut through your skin

by Ariesgirl666



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternative Universe - FBI, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Silence of the Lambs AU, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, and maybe a little more, i fucking love this movie okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariesgirl666/pseuds/Ariesgirl666
Summary: FBI trainee Bellamy Blake is sent to speak to infamous cannibal killer Clarke Griffin.or, the Bellarke Silence of the Lambs AU that nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

Bellamy honestly hadn’t expected the infamous Dr. Clarke Griffin to be so. Well. _Small_.

“You’re staring.” Dr. Griffin speaks first, her tone dry and not amused in the slightest. She’s the model kind of beautiful, with high cheekbones, blue eyes that cut just as sharply as her voice, and long blonde hair loose around her face. Bellamy supposes Dr. Griffin wouldn’t be allowed so much as a hair tie. He remembers Dr. Wallace’s instructions _“Don’t pass her so much as a paperclip.”_

“Sorry,” Bellamy says, and he sounds just as insecure as he feels. She raises a single blonde eyebrow.

“Good morning, Dr. Griffin, my name is Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke Griffin doesn’t say anything at first, and then —“You’re one of Diana Sydney’s, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“May I see your credentials?”

One hand shaking slightly, he holds them up.

“Closer, please.”

Bellamy takes a step towards the glass. Clarke doesn’t move. _“Closer_.”

He’s up against the glass, now. He presses his credentials against it, and now Clarke Griffin steps forward, her blue eyes holding his.

“That expires in one week,” she says after a moment. “You’re not real FBI, are you?”

“I’m still in training at the academy,” he admits.

She looks incredulous. “Diana Sydney sent a trainee to _me_?”

“Yes. I’m a student.” He thinks quickly, and adds, “I’m here to learn from you, Doctor. Maybe you can decide for yourself whether or not I’m qualified to do that.”

The slightest hint of a smile flickers across her face. “That is rather slippery of you, Agent Blake.”

Another pause, and then —

“Sit, please.”

It feels like a victory.

 

* * *

 

“So? How was it?” Raven Reyes practically bounces beside him as they walk together to class.

“I wheedled a crazy man with come all over me.”

“I wish I had time for a social life -I don’t know how you do it, and with school too.”

He mock-glares at her, and she grins.

Raven’s been his best friend ever since she got to the academy, the two of them being the only students of color and almost always getting the shittiest details because of it. She’s just as ambitious as him, too.

Unbidden, he remembers Clarke Griffin’s words. _“You’re so ambitious, aren’t you? Do you know what you look like to me, with your good briefcase and your cheap shoes?You look like a rube. A well scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste.”_

“Bellamy? You listening?”

_“All those tedious sticky fumblings in the backseats of cars when you could only dream of getting out, getting anywhere. Getting all the way to the F. B. I.”_

She’d been right. About everything.

_“Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.”_

He knows at that moment that he’s going to be seeing more of Clarke Griffin.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Hester Mofet. It’s an anagram, isn’t it, Doctor?”

He’s soaking wet. The cell is dark. He’d barely been able to get Wallace to let him in in the first place, but after what he’d discovered at the Your Self Storage facility, he couldn’t wait until the morning.

“Hester Mofet. ‘The rest of me.’ Miss the rest of me. Meaning that _you_ rented that garage.”  
There’s a rattle, and then something is dropped into the tray that separates them. Bellamy reaches inside hesitantly and pulls out a white terrycloth towel. “Thank you.”

“Your bleeding has stopped,” comes Dr. Griffin’s voice from deep inside the bowels of the cell.

“How did you…it’s nothing. It’s just a scratch. Dr. Griffin, whose head is in that bottle?”

Her voice is soft and slippery. “Why don’t you ask me about Buffalo Bill?”

It may be a trap, but Bellamy’s curiosity is peaked. “Do you know something about him?”

“I might if I saw the case file,” Clarke replies in her enigmatic way. “You could get that for me.”

Getting that under Sydney’s nose would be _hell_. But she’s trying to distract him. “Why don’t we talk about Miss Mofet?You wanted me to find him.”

Clarke hesitates, not out of uncertainty, more as if she’s savoring the moment. He doesn’t know how he can know all that without seeing her in the dark, but he _does_. “His real name is Benjamin Raspail, a former patient of mine whose romantic attachments ran to, shall we say, the _exotic_. I did not kill him,” she says as though she knows the question on Bellamy’s lips. “Merely tucked him away very much as I had found him, after he had missed three appointments.”

“If you didn’t kill him, who did?” Bellamy asks, and then adds, respectfully. “Doctor.”  
“Who can say? Best thing for him really.” Bellamy can _taste_ the smile in Clarke’s words. “His therapy was going nowhere.”

“His dress, makeup,” Bellamy tried to stick to the topic. “Raspail was a transvestite?”  
“In life? Oh, no. Garden-variety manic depressive. Tedious, very tedious. I now think of him as a kind of experiment. A fledgling killer’s first attempt at transformation. How did you feel when you first saw him, Bellamy?”

“Scared at first,” Bellamy says. He knows that only absolute honesty is going to get him what he wants. He remembers the rush he felt inside that storage facility, looking at Benjamin Raspail’s head in a jar and thinking _finally, a clue_. “Then…exhilarated.”

Clarke seems satisfied with that answer, for she switches to another line of questioning. “Diana Sydney is helping your career. Apparently she likes you, and you her.”

“I never thought about it.”

“Do you think Diana Sydney wants you sexually? True, she is much older, but do you think she visualizes scenarios, exchanges, _fucking_ you?”

She’s trying to shock him, Bellamy knows this, but he can’t stop the spreading blush. “That doesn’t interest me, Doctor, and frankly? It’s the sort of thing that Murphy would say.”

Clarke’s voice is satisfied. “Not anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

Niylah’s humming something as she leaves her car. Her keys jingle in her hand. The glitter gold polish is flaking on her fingernails, she notices.

Her phone rings. “Hello?”

_“Babe? You home yet?”_

“Hey, Octavia. On my way home now.”

_“We still studying together tomorrow?”_

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_“Love you, babe.”_

“Love you too. Bye.”

_“Bye.”_

The sounds of grunting come from behind her and Niylah whirls, startled. But it’s just a man trying to push a couch up into his truck, without much luck.

She almost keeps walking, remembers what she’d been told her about strangers.

But the man has a cast, and Niylah feels for him. She’d broke her arm in third grade and she’d been so useless about it.

“Hey, can I help you with that?”

The man nods in assent. “Would you?”  
“Sure.” Niylah takes hold of the other end of the couch and tries lifting it up.

“Thank you.”  
“It’s nothing. You looked kinda handicapped.”

“Yeah, I got it in this far. I just can’t get it into the truck by myself.”

Niylah steps up on the edge of the truck to try and help it in, and before she knows it she’s being pushed into the truck, held in place by the couch.

The handicapped man steps into the truck after her and suddenly he doesn’t look so harmless. Niylah finds herself wishing she’d actually _gone_ to one of her girlfriend’s self-defense classes.

Then he hits her, _hard_ , and everything goes black.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy’s carsick.

Or maybe another kind of sick, as he looks at the pictures of the corpses.

“This new one today washed up here. Elk River, West Virginia,” Diana Sydney says. She’s in the seat across from him. “Look at him, Blake. Tell me what you see.”  
Bellamy studies the photograph of the bloated, skinned girl. “He’s a white male. Serial killers tend to hunt within their own ethnic group,” he thinks out loud. “He’s not a drifter. He’s got his own house somewhere.”

Diana raises an eyebrow, a gesture strangely reminiscent of Clarke Griffin in her cell with her drawings. “Why?”

“What he does with them takes privacy.”  
She nods, pleased.

“He’s in his thirties or forties. What he does with them takes real physical strength,” Bellamy continues. “Combined with an older man’s self-control. He’s cautious, precise, and never impulsive. He’ll never stop.”

“Why not?”  
“Got a real taste for it now, and he’s getting better at his work.”

“Not bad, Blake.” Diana’s smiling at him now and he feels like he’s passed a test he didn’t know was being given. “Questions?”

“Yes, ma’am. You haven’t mentioned anything about the information in my report on Dr. Griffin’s offer, ma’am.”

“I’m considering it.”

“That is why you sent me in there, isn’t it? To get information on Buffalo Bill, ma’am?”

Diana’s face gives away nothing.

“Well, if that was the case, I just wish I was in on it, ma’am.”

Diana sighs. “If I’d sent you in with an actual agenda, Griffin would’ve known it instantly. She’d have toyed with you, then turned to stone.”

He remembers the intelligence in those sky-blue eyes and doesn’t find that explanation hard to swallow.

 

* * *

 

He _hates_ this part of it. Looking at the girl’s body spread out on the table like she’s a nobody. He knows Diana Sydney and the others are watching him closely for a reaction, the only rookie in the room, and he refuses to give them one.

“What else do you see, Blake?”  
“Well, she’s not local,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Glitter nail polish and her ears are pierced three times. Looks like town to me.”

He would know, wouldn’t he, the difference between a town girl and a local. _“Was your father a coal miner, dear? Did he stink of the lamp?”_

“Her name’s Zoe Monroe,” one of the officers says.

“She’s got something in her throat,” Bellamy observes. He hates to, but he sticks his fingers in the dead girl’s mouth, prying it open.

“When a body comes out of the water, lots of times there’s leaves in the mouth.” The same officer replies. Bellamy steps aside to allow a man to pull the thing out of Monroe’s throat.

“What is that?” Diana asks, stepping closer. “Some kind of seed pod?”  
“No, ma’am. That’s a bug cocoon.”

“There’s no way that could get way down in there,” Officer Miller comments.

“Not unless somebody shoved it in,” Diana murmurs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where are you? Let me out of here!” Niylah scrapes her fingernails against the stone of the well she’s in. When she awoke down here, her own clothes were gone and she was wearing some kind of rough, scratchy cloth. She wants to cry. She wants to be out of here. _God_ , she wants to be out of here.

“Help me! Please! Why won’t you answer me? Please!” Is anyone hearing her? Does Octavia even know she’s gone?

 

* * *

 

 

“Our top story for this morning: Niylah Kane, the nineteen year old daughter of Senator Marcus Kane, is believed to have been kidnapped by the serial killer known as Buffalo Bill.”  
The television is blaring when Bellamy wakes up and heads downstairs. He cuts his way through the crowd to stand beside Raven.

“Police indicate that the girl’s blouse has been found sliced up the back in what has become an all-too-familiar calling card. Young Niylah is the only daughter of Republican Senator from Tennessee, Marcus Kane.

Her kidnapping does not appear to be politically motivated, but it has stirred the government to its highest levels. Reached for community on the ski slopes of Vermont, President Jahais said to be, and I quote, ‘intensely concerned.’ Just minutes ago, Senator Kane taped this dramatic personal plea.”

The screen switched to a video of Marcus Kane standing in front of a blue curtain. “I’m speaking now to the person who is holding my daughter. Niylah is very gentle and kind. Talk to her, and you’ll see.”

“Hey, don’t you know her?” Raven whispers.

“She’s dating my sister,” Bellamy replies absently. He’d tried to call Octavia the night the news broke, but she wasn’t taking his calls.

“Small world.” Raven’s hand squeezes his in a brief gesture of reassurance. “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

“You have the power.You are in charge,” Marcus is saying. Pictures of Niylah as a little girl, with her hair in braids, appear on screen. “You have a wonderful chance to show the whole world that you can be merciful as well as strong. That you’re big enough to treat Niylah better than the world has treated you.”  
The next picture that’s shown Bellamy knows. He was the one who took it. Octavia has her arm around Niylah. She’s in a slinky green dress, Niylah dressed in white. It was the night before senior prom. He remembers it like it was yesterday, his sister laughing at his insistence on taking a photo, Niylah’s soft giggles. Then another picture, of Niylah and Octavia kissing in front of the Trevi Fountain.

“You have that power. Please. My daughter’s name is Niylah.”  
“That’s really smart,” Raven observes. “He keeps repeating the name. If Buffalo Bill sees Niylah as a person and not an object, he’s less likely to hurt her.”

“Release my little girl,” Marcus begs.

Bellamy turns the TV off.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re coming into my hospital to conduct an interview and refusing to share information with me for the third time!” Cage Wallace rages. He has to run to keep up with Bellamy’s pace.

“This is just a routine follow-up for the Raspail case,” Bellamy lies.

“He is my patient! I have _rights_!”

“I understand that, Doctor.”

“Look, I am not just some _turnkey_ , Mr. Blake.” Cage is standing in front of Bellamy now, blocking his way to where the prisoners are held.

Bellamy takes a deep breath. Releases it, and presses a card into Cage’s hand. “This is the number for the US attorney’s office. Either you discuss this with him or you let me do my job, do you understand?”  
Without waiting for the doctor to reply, Bellamy shoves past him.

 

“If your profile helps us catch Buffalo Bill in time to save Niylah Kane, the senator promises a transfer.to the VA hospital at Oneida Park, New York, with a view of the woods nearby. Maximum security still applies, of course.”

Clarke’s face gives away nothing.

“You'd have reasonable access to books. Best of all, though, one week of the year, you get to leave the hospital and go here. Plum Island. Every day of that week you may walk on the beach, you may swim in the ocean, for up to one hour, under SWAT team surveillance, of course.”

“Of course,” Clarke echoes. Her eyes search his. Predatory.

“And there you have it,” Bellamy continues. “A copy of the Buffalo Bill case file.” He slides the folder into the slot. “A copy of the senator's offer. This offer is non-negotiable and final. Niylah Kane dies, you get nothing.”

Clarke studies the papers carefully, sitting on her bed to do so. Her drawings are gone. They’d been taken away when she’d made John Murphy swallow his own tongue with only a few words.

“Plum Island Animal Disease Research Center,” Clarke says finally. “Sounds charming.”  
Bellamy thinks of Octavia and Niylah smiling together in that picture. Thinks of how his sister must be crying her eyes out right now. “That’s only a part of the island,” he says desperately. “There’s a beautiful beach. Terns nest there.”  
“Terns?” To his surprise, Clarke actually looks interested. “Yes.” She settles on a decision. “If I help you, Bellamy, it will be ‘turns’ with us too.”

He didn’t know when they were on a first-name basis, but he says nothing, too afraid she’ll change her mind.

“Quid pro quo,” Clarke continues. “I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about the case. About yourself. Quid pro quo, yes or no?”

He hesitates. This is what he’d wanted, a chance for advancement, a chance to save Niylah, but at the same time he’d be doing exactly what Diana Sydney had warned him against. _“You don’t want Clarke Griffin inside your head.”_

“Yes or no, Bellamy? Poor little Niylah is waiting.”

“Go on, Doctor.”

Clarke looks impressed. “What is your worst memory of childhood?”  
“The death of my father.”

“Tell me about it, and don’t lie, or I’ll know.” Clarke actually _winks_ at him.

“He was a town marshal. One night he surprised two burglars coming out of a store. They shot him.”  
“Was he killed outright?”  
“No.” Bellamy remembers standing by his father’s bed in the hospital, holding Octavia’s hand. “He was very strong. He lasted more than a month.”

Clarke is silent. Waiting.

“My mother died when my sister and I were very young. Dad had become the whole world to us. I was ten years old, when he left me. My sister, Octavia, was five.”

“You’re very frank, Bellamy.” Clarke tilts her head, blonde hair falling over her face. Bellamy wonders what kind of conditioner she uses. Prison-issue, probably. “I think it would be quite something to know you in private life.”

“Quid pro quo, Doctor.”

Clarke smiles. “Yes.” 

And she begins.

 

* * *

 

 

When Bellamy falls asleep that night, Clarke’s words ring in his head. Could they be the key to this entire thing? _“Billy hates his own identity, you see, and he thinks that makes him a transsexual. But his pathology is a thousand times more average. And more terrifying.”_


	5. Chapter 5

“It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it’s told.”  
The bottle of lotion is cold in Niylah’s shaking hands. “Mister, please, my father will pay cash! Whatever ransom you’re asking for, he’ll pay it.”

“It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.”

“Okay, okay.” Niylah glares up at her captor and she begins to rub the cold lotion over her dirty, sweatsoaked skin. He’s cradling a little dog in his arms. A yappy white thing that Niylah irrationally finds herself hating just as much as her captor. “Mister, if you let me go I won’t press charges, I promise,” she tries again. _No, I’ll just have Octavia bash your stupid face in._ “My dad’s a real important man.”

“Now it places the lotion in the basket,” the man says impatiently.

“Please!” Niylah begs. “Please! I wanna go home! I wanna see my daddy!”

“It places the lotion in the basket.”  
“Please!” She’s openly crying now. “I wanna see my…I wanna see my daddy.”

“It places the lotion in the basket.”

“I wanna go home! Mister, please!”

“PUT THE FUCKING LOTION IN THE BASKET!”

The dog is barking. Tears stream down Niylah’s cheeks, cutting a trail through the grime.

She puts the lotion in the basket.

 

* * *

 

 

“They scammed you, Clarke.” Cage Wallace has a sickening smile on his face.

Clarke stares straight ahead, her expression a perfect mask of calm.

“I called Senator Kane. He never heard of any deal with you.”

Had Bellamy lied to her? Impossible.

“There never was a deal with Senator Kane, but there is now,” Cage Wallace coos. “I designed it, of course. Identify Buffalo Bill, and if the girl is found in time, Senator Kane will have you transferred to the state prison in Tennessee.”

Clarke stares at the clock on the wall. Bellamy Blake, with his shiny shoes and his country boy honesty.

She’d really thought she could trust him.

“Answer me, Clarke.”

She avoids Cage Wallace’s eyes. She wonders how his liver would taste.

“You answer me or by God you’ll never leave this cell. Who is Buffalo Bill?”

“His first name is Louis,” Clarke says evenly, coming to a decision. “I’ll tell the rest to the Senator himself, but only in Tennessee.”

She doesn’t have to look at Wallace to know that he’s smirking victoriously. He really thinks he’s incredibly clever. Clarke decides once she inevitably escapes, he’ll be the first person she pays a visit to. “And I have a few conditions of my own.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy stalks by where Cage Wallace is giving a tour. Diana Sydney had been furious when she’d heard about the bluff he’d pulled on Griffin. It had almost worked, too, if that insufferable Cage Wallace hadn’t bugged her cell, found out about the deal. Bellamy thinks that Wallace would kill Niylah Kane himself if it guaranteed him his precious fame.

 

“Is it true what they’re saying?” an officer asks Bellamy in the elevator. “She’s some kind of vampire?”

Bellamy thinks of those heartless eyes, irreverently blue. “They don’t have a name for what she is.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Good evening, Bellamy,” is what Clarke greets him with. Her face is unreadable. If she’s hurt by his deception, there is no sign of it in her face. Her blue eyes glitter, intelligent as ever.

“I thought you might like your drawings back, Doctor,” Bellamy offers up his weak excuse and the rolled-up drawings. Clarke walks deliberately to the bars. “Just until you get your view.”  
“How very thoughtful,” Clarke murmurs, but there is no warmth in her tone. “Or did Diana Sydney send you for one last wheedle before you’re both booted off the case?”

“No,” Bellamy says, and it’s the truth and they both know it. “I came because I wanted to.”

Clarke reaches out and takes the drawings. There’s something fond in her eyes. “People will say we’re in love.” She turns now, her back to Bellamy. She’s so slight, her pale hair ribboning down her back. “Anthrax Island. That was an especially nice touch, Bellamy. Yours?”  
“Yes.”  
“Yeah. That was good. Pity about poor Niylah, though. Ticktock, ticktock, ticktock.”

Bellamy’s gut clenches. “Your anagrams are showing, Doctor,” he says. “Louis Friend? Iron sulfide, also known as fool’s gold.”

Clarke’s smirking as she turns to face him. “Oh, Bellamy. Your problem is you need to get more fun out of life.”

“You were telling me the truth back in Baltimore, Doctor.” His eyes plead with hers, trapped in that azure gaze. “Please continue now.”

“I’ve read the case files,” Clarke says. “Have you?” Her head tilts in a sudden movement reminiscent of a bird, Bellamy thinks. A starling. “Everything you need to find him is in these pages.”

“Then tell me how.”  
“First principles, Bellamy. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing, ask what is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek?”

“He kills women.”

“No.” Clarke’s tone is scolding, like a strict teacher. “That is incidental. What is the first thing he does? What need does he serve by killing?”  
Bellamy begins to list things he’d learned in school. “Uh, anger. Social acceptance. Sexual frustration.”  
“No.” Clarke says again. “He _covets_. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Bellamy? Do we seek out things to covet?”

He hesitates.

“Make an effort to answer now,” Clarke says, almost gently.

“No. We just…”

“No, we begin by coveting what we see every day. Don’t you feel eyes moving over your body, Bellamy?” Clarke’s gaze is like a living thing, curling around Bellamy’s bones. “And don’t _your_ eyes seek out the things they want?”

Bellamy tries not to focus on Clarke’s lips -pink, pursed. Perfect. “Alright, yes. Now please tell me how -”

“No! It is your turn to tell me, Bellamy. You don’t have anymore _vacations_ to sell.” She isn’t hiding her emotions now, and the coldness in her arctic eyes is brutal. “Why did you leave that ranch?”

“Doctor, we don’t have time for any of this now,” Bellamy pleads.

“But we don’t reckon time the same way, do we? This is all the time we’ll ever have.” Clarke stalks around her cage, a lioness.

“Later. Listen to me.” Bellamy glances desperately at the guards by the door. “We’ve only got five -”  
“No. I will listen now.” Clarke steps towards the bars, her gaze bordering obsessive. Her pale hands curl around the bars. The cage is elevated, so Bellamy has to look up to meet her eyes. “After your father’s murder, you and Octavia were orphaned. You went to live with cousins on a horse and sheep farm in Montana. And?”  
“And one morning,” Bellamy sighs. There is no saying no to Clarke. “I just ran away.”

“Not _just_ , Bellamy. What set you off?”

Silence.  
“You started at what time?”  
“Early,” Bellamy remembers. He’d never talked about this -not with therapists. Not with O. “Still dark.”

“Then something woke you up, did it? Was it a dream? What was it?”

“I heard a strange noise.” And he hears it now.  
“What was it?”

“It was screaming. Some kind of screaming. Like a child’s voice.”

Clarke’s pupils are very large. Focused. “What did you do?”  
“I went downstairs.” He can feel the soft carpeted stairs under his bare feet. He’s a little kid again. “Outside. I crept into the barn. I was scared to look inside, but I had to. Octavia followed me. I covered her eyes.”

“What did you see, Bellamy? What did you see?”

“Lambs,” Bellamy says heavily. “They were screaming.”

“They were slaughtering the spring lambs?”  
Bellamy feels a tear prick his eye. He won’t let it fall. “And they were screaming,” he repeats.

“And you ran away?”

“No. First I tried to free them. I opened the gate to their pen but they wouldn’t run.” His voice wavers. He can see the lambs looking at him with their beautiful dumb eyes. “They just stood there, confused. They wouldn’t run.”

“But you could -and you did, didn’t you?” Clarke asks gently.

“Yes. I took one lamb and Octavia’s hand and I ran away as fast as I could.”

“Where were you going, Bellamy?”  
“I don’t know.” He can feel Octavia’s tiny hand in his, small and so very warm.

“I thought…I thought if I could save just one, but…he was so heavy. I didn’t get more than a few miles when the sheriff’s car picked us up. The rancher was so angry, he sent us to live in the orphanage in Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again.”  
“What became of your lamb, Bellamy?” Clarke looks sad too. Looks… _human_.

“He killed him,” Bellamy whispers.  
“You still wake up in the dark sometimes, don’t you? Wake up and hear the screaming of the lambs?”

There’s no room to hide. “Yes.”

“And you think if you save poor Niylah you can make them stop, don’t you? You think if Niylah lives you won’t wake up in the dark ever again to that awful screaming of the lambs.”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy’s eyes are wet. “I don’t know.”

Clarke steps back, both physically and emotionally. Her eyes shutter. “Thank you, Bellamy. Thank you.”  
“Tell me his name, Doctor.”

But now the elevator door opens and Dr. Wallace is storming in. Clarke smiles, cold and cruel. “Dr. Wallace, I presume. I think you know each other.”

“Okay,” Wallace hisses, grabbing Bellamy’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“It’s your turn, Doctor!” Bellamy shouts, looking back at Clarke. “Tell me his name!”

“Sorry, sir,” says one of the guards, grabbing Bellamy’s other arm. “I’ve got orders. I have to put you on a plane. Come on now.”

“Brave Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs, her voice too intimate as it caresses his name. “You will let me know when those lambs stop screaming, won’t you?”

“Tell me his name, Doctor!”  
“Bellamy!” Clarke raises her voice and Bellamy looks back. She’s holding something out between the bars. “Your case file.”  
Bellamy struggles out of the mens’ grips and runs back to the cage. As he takes the files from Clarke, her finger strokes his thumb. Just a touch, but it fills him with lightning blue as her eyes.

“Goodbye, Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this scene is one of my favorites, i hope i did justice to it! as always, most of the spoken lines belong to the SOTL script.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos help inspire me!


End file.
